about the past until it’s hard to remember I’m not still sixteen and over here for another sleepover. My thoughts calm, comforted by the familiarity of their house, the shared glances and smiles, how I know Carrie is going to make us relive an embarrassing story when she scrunches her nose. We sip from the same glasses I’ve drunk from for years, in the same house that has notches on the growth chart from where they’d measured me along with Cade and Sophia.
Cara and Destiny show up shortly after, and the walk down memory lane becomes a sprint as we gather in the backyard, giggling as we talk about the history that binds and warms us like a quilt.
As kids, I slept in Sophia’s room, and we shared her bed, but since moving, I now stay in the guest room downstairs. It’s all white with teal and pink accents. I slip into the raised bed and sigh at the feel of cool sheets against my bare legs. I look at the text notifications on my phone and settle against the mound of pillows, anxiously waiting to hear from Arlo.
But all the messages are from Rose except one—it’s from Diane, my mom’s best friend.
Rose: Juliet is not okay with you being gone.
Rose: Neither am I.
Rose: Did we really agree to 10 days?
Rose: Why does the apartment seem haunted when you’re gone?
Rose: Ignore me, I’m just feeling needy.
Rather than text her back, I call. She answers on the first ring. “My beloved!”
I laugh, leaning back farther into the pillows. “What did you do today?”
“I binge-watched the new Roswell show. Alien boys are hot. Maybe we should take a road trip to New Mexico this summer and see if we can find some extraterrestrials.”
“Or, you could try going on a date with Ian…”
“We’re not having this conversation tonight because I already had it once today with Arlo.”
“Really? Do tell.”
“When you’re back. Tell me how Texas is. Did you see Matt, yet?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Are you nervous?”
“About officially ending things with the guy I’ve cared for and loved in one capacity or another for most of my life, who also recently dicked me over by kissing another girl and posting it all over social media? No, not at all.”
Rose sighs. “I’m sorry. I wish I were there with you. I know this isn’t easy.”
“It’s okay. I know it’s the right choice, regardless of Arlo. It’s just hard to lose another person in my life.”
“Speaking of Arlo, are you going to tell me what I walked in on this morning? Because I’ve theorized what might have happened for most of the day, and let me tell you, unless you tell me what really happened, I’m going to believe you guys finally boned.”
“I’m surprised you’re not bugging him for details.”
“Oh, I tried. And he acted like some kind of gentleman and wouldn’t tell me. What the actual fuck? What is your dad teaching these guys? First, I get flowers from Ian, and now Arlo won’t tell me any dirty details.”
I laugh. “I don’t think they’re learning that from my dad. You saw the stellar job he did for Whitney’s birthday.”
“Just tell me if intercourse was involved?”
“It wasn’t.”
She groans. “Did I interrupt?”
“No, you woke us up.”
She groans louder. “But there was touching? Petting? Something?”
“There was something.”
“Oh my gosh, did he get you off?”
Thoughts of Arlo’s hands and lips on me make my pulse quicken as I share the details of last night, which has her groans of protest turning into squeals of delight.
“He’s going to hear you,” I warn her.
“No, actually, he’s staying with some friends tonight.”
My smile falls as a brick wall is erected into my thoughts. “Really?”
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. He’s clearly invested in you. I’m sure it’s just one of the guys from the team or something.”
“He didn’t say who?”
“I’m guessing the chat with your dad didn’t go great. He was pretty short about everything when he called to tell me he grabbed some stuff and that he was going to get out of my hair so I could enjoy having the apartment to myself. He probably thought it was weird to stay here with just me.”
“He didn’t respond to my text from earlier,” I admit to Rose. After years of having Matt take weeks to reply, it shouldn’t hurt so much that Arlo’s taking several hours—yet, it does.
“Maybe he forgot. Look how many times I mentally respond and forget to actually send a response.”